Did you people know that I had a son? Apparently I adopted one some time ago, but had forgotten all about it until this morning when I found some foreign lad firing an elephant gun off the top floor balcony of my palatial estate.
“You there!” I said, upon discovering the source of the disturbance. “What’s the meaning of this? And how did you get up here?”
“Oh, you,” he sneered, before firing another shot at an overhead flock of birds. “Hello, Mistah Fathah. Me hope me no disturb your sleep, you fat pig!”
“‘Mistah Fathah?'” I parroted. “I don’t think I follow.”
“Ha ha, very funny Mistah Fathah!” he said after firing again. “Ho ho ho, you so rich and important you forget all about your numbah one son.”
“Son? Wait a second — you’re Kang, right? My former houseboy?”
“Former slave, you mean! Until court make you adopt me!”
“Huh, I vaguely remember something about that. Am I to understand you live here now?”
The boy gave me a serious case of the stink eye. “What game you playing, Mistah Fathah? Whatever it is, is no funny!”
“Alright, alright, simmer down. Everything going alright?”
“Yeah, fine,” he said, firing yet again. In the distance, I heard someone scream.
“Hit someone? I sure hope so!”
“That’s my boy,” I said approvingly, before handing him a few hundreds. “Tell you what, go treat yourself to something expensive on me.”
“Hokay, Mistah Fathah,” he said, sliding the bills into his front pocket. “Now split; me got more shooting to do.”
Well, as you can see, my relationship with Kang has never been better, even if I do forget that he exists from time to time. One thing I never forget, however, is how much I love sex with whores — two of which are waiting for me in the hot tub as I type. Later.